


Little Box Black

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: Bottom John, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mystery, Possessive Sherlock, Sherlock is a big baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock never believed in the supernatural, who would? However when a mysterious box appears and is the link to homes being burnt down, and nightmares that drive men into insanity, Sherlock may be forced to change his views. Will Sherlock come to terms with the idea that not everything can be explained through science, or will his reckless actions to prove that it is just a hoax put his dear John in terrible danger? ( Johnlock )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Sherlock Decides his Career in Babysitting Will Never Hit Off

“BORED”

“For God’s sake Sherlock, are you trying to blow my ears out?” John Watson, a veteran military doctor, snapped at his raven haired friend, who was currently laying on the couch; fingers at a steeple and in his usual blue robe, white shirt, and pants.

He turned his head to the man with a blank look, “John it takes at least 120 decibels for there to be any damage to your ears or hearing, a human’s voice typically can not go louder than 90.”

 Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh, he was so bored. No cases for two days! Not to mention no cigarettes. He may have quit cold turkey quite some time ago, but the cravings would still come on days like this. Of course he stopped bothering to ask John, the previous attempts failed tremendously.

 

“Someone contacted us about a lost bunny.” John offered, presumably scrolling through their site now, Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the soft picks of his flatmate typing on the computer. It was reassuring the veteran took his condition seriously and was trying to find him something.

 “Unless the bunny glowed, BORING.”

 Sherlock listened to his friend’s suppressed irritation, coming out in the form of a sigh as he continued to look for cases. Despite the wound up tension inside of him, Sherlock found these small moments between fits relaxing. John typing away on his computer, reading the newspaper or maybe just a book.

 

He was very much a pillar in his life, keeping him steady and on track when his mind would otherwise wander. How did he ever solve cases without him?

A hesitant rap against the door caused him to sit up, watching as John got up as well and opened it. There stood a man, not terribly young but younger than the two flatmates.

 His eyes were red, puffy. He was crying recently. There was soot on his hands, which he had jammed in the pockets of his blazer. Either a smoker or was involved in a fire. His auburn hair was messed up, going every which way, hands must have run through them. The man suffered a great loss recently, house burned down. He came for help, perhaps believed it was arson.

 Sherlock’s cool blue eyes watched as the man was invited in to have a seat, his mouth twitching down slightly when John sat in his chair and the stranger in John’s. It was unorderly, he didn't like it.

 

“You, get up. John sit in your chair. I will sit in mine, you, to the couch.” He ordered, plopping himself down in his chair when it was free.

 John rolled his eyes and spoke up after getting settled in his usual chair, “I take it you have a case for us, yes?”

 The younger man gulped and nodded, “Y-yeh see-”

 “Thats enough, you will lower the I.Q. of the whole street. Your house burned down this morning, you came to us for help because you believe it was arson, and want us to find out who it is.”

 The man blinked, before gulping and giving a hesitant nod. “A-almost Mister Holmes. I-I know who done it.”

 “DID it, Mister…” Sherlock waved his hand for the victim to give his name.

 

“Wheatcher, Christopher Wheatcher.” He hesitantly replied. Sherlock steepled his hands and dimly noted he was American. He sunk a bit in his chair, face blank as usual, “Who did it then, Mister Wheatcher?”

 Wheatcher gulped again and glanced to his sides, seemingly afraid of others hearing this information, “A Devil, Mister Holmes.”

 John massaged his eyes as Sherlock stood, hands clasped behind his back while he paced around the apartment. “Mister Wheatcher, this is no such thing as Devils, Demons, Imps or anything of the supernatural sort. You were probably under the influence of drugs, perhaps of a gaseous sort. My colleague and I have delt with this before, and it is only because of my incessant boredom do I take up your case.” He turned to the man, “Do you understand me?”

 

“Y-yessir, th-thank you sir. Here is my address… Or, was my address.”

 “Good, John take the address.”

 John stood and grabbed it with an irritated groan, watching as Sherlock ussured Christopher out of the door, “We will see you for tea to discuss the events in two hours.”

 

When the door closed John raised a brow at his companion, “You could have been nicer you know.”

 “I’m Sherlock, I solve cases, not mommy children.” He relighted in a haughty tone.

 “Right then. Shall we get ready?”

 “Yes,” He quickly threw on his coat and tied his scarf, “Make him get a drug test and the problem will be solved. It’s hardly a case John.”

  “You’re getting out of the flat, who are you to complain?”

“Mm. I hope there is a body.”


	2. FOUND IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love guys, hope you like this chapter too!

Sherlock kicked a piece of charred wood, spurring up a cloud of ash. The house definitely burnt down from the inside. Question was, where did it burn down from exactly? Unfortunately, it was difficult to tell where rooms and kitchens had once been, everything reduced to ash now.

Whoever burnt the house down wanted those inside dead.

His head shot up when he heard footsteps, and since they were not John’s (he could pick out his footsteps from a crowded building) he figured it was Mister Wheatcher. He was right, as usual. Sherlock picked his way out of the wreckage to meet with the man.

 

“Over ‘ere is the best tea around, let us get some there.” The redhead suggested, Sherlock would have made another comment about his speech but a quick jab to his side kept his mouth closed.

John fell into step beside Christopher, “Did everyone make it out in time?”

“Yessir. We were lucky, that there devil wanted us dead.”

“You truly believe it was a devil then?” The blond man inquired, keeping his tone curious so as not to embarrass the man. Well, at least try not to. Sherlock figured the boy was doing a good enough job of that on his own.

 

The tea shop was cute, it was small and easily overlooked. After walking in they were met with the strong aroma of tea leaves, their teas kept in small black drawers covering an entire wall. It looked splendid, and it was the perfect place to talk about what was going on.

The trio sat down and ordered their tea before getting down to business. John rested his chin on his left fist, “So, tell us what has been going on for you to believe what burned your house down was a devil.”

“W-well, it started back when my Grandfather got the Box. Ah, well. You see, there is an ancient box that had been uncovered some time ago, and set to auction after the previous owner died from mysterious causes after he went an’ gone insane.”

“Mysterious causes, there are many diseases and viruses that can kill ‘mysteriously’. I highly doubt it was-” He was cut off when he noticed the look John was giving him. Resisting the urge to pout, he fell quiet and continued to listen to the preposterous tale of this ‘Box’.

“Ehm. Anyway, my grandpappy was always into the supernatural and decided to get it. However, soon him and anyone who would sleep in the house were cursed to have horrid nightmares of an old woman. They never went into detail though… The nightmares became too much so my Grandpappi went to a Rabbi, and had the demon put back in the box, and stored away in the basement. I-I think that demon broke out and burned the house down in some fit of rage.”

Sherlock glanced at John, who gave a sigh and massaged his eyes. Taking that as a cue to speak, the detective straightened; “The house was burned from the inside, and you believe it was some demon or devil. You should be tested for drugs, many times those who commit arson and want those inside terminated they will gas the place first to dull senses. It isn't uncommon for this to raise paranoia in humans as well. Provided they survive of course.”

John leaned back against the cushion of the maroon booth and offered a gentle smile to the young man, “We will check out the house while you do that, search for any clues or something that could point us in the right direction of who the criminal may be. When you come back, let us know the results and we can go from there.”

Christopher nodded his thanks, clearly responding to John’s approach at dealing with him better than Sherlocks. That was usually the case though, so the consulting detective could care less. He was thankful for it though, John could add that gentle touch and get that much more information out of patients.

_Not that he ever needed extra information._

 

The tea arrived and was set before them quickly after, Sherlock didn't touch his while the other two seemed happy to have a warm drink. His eyes drifted out the window, it was cold today. Not enough for John to have his shoulder ache, as it usually did in winter or storms, but enough so that their breaths came out in small clouds.

Sherlock tapped his heel against the ground, leg shaking. He needed to get out, solve this case. Sitting for two days made this particularly painful for the detective. One glance at John’s warm smile as he chatted about nonsense to the patient, Sherlock found himself sinking in the booth to wait; albeit irritated that the smile was not directed at him. All of John’s smiles were his and his only.

The detective hated to share anything, and John’s smiles were no exception. Christopher noticed the narrowed eyes of the detective and hesitantly, but quickly, withdrew himself from the conversation. Good, now he could keep John’s smiles to himself.

“Sherlock, stop glaring at Chis. God knows why you’re mad at him, but get over it.”

Sherlock lifted his lip slightly, but turned his gaze out the window. Now alert to the conversation between the two men.

“A-ah it’s good John, dun worry.”

 

John let out a cheerful laugh, “I know. Sherlock can be less than sensitive sometimes though, and you’ve been through a lot.”

The blond man wrapped his small hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth that came from it as they sat in silence for a couple minutes.

“JOHN. BORED.”

“Christ Sherlock, fine!” he finished his tea and stood, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on while Christopher recovered from the shock.

 

They quickly left the little shop, to Sherlock’s joy. It obviously did not take long for them to get back to the house, Sherlock began to scour the area while John sent Christopher to the nearest hospital to get tested.

Where could the fire have started from? From as far as he could tell, the whole house erupted ablaze at once, but the family got out unharmed, so it was impossible for that to happen. Perhaps there was more than one arson, and they all lit their fires in succession. It would be unlikely for the family to get out; but they would have had more of a chance that way.

Sherlock dimly noted that John was tiptoeing around the area as well, looking for something that could have started a fire. Normally he hated sharing crime scenes, but he found more and more John was becoming an exception to what he thought were his most fundamental rules.

 

“Sh-Sherlock… I found the box.”

Sherlock straightened and looked over to John, who was quite a bit away on the other end of the house, looking down at something. He rolled his eyes, “John that is ridiculous, there is no way any box could survive the flames.”

“This one did.” John replied, his voice wavering slightly. He was frightened.

He quickly made his way across the house and fell into place beside his doctor, looking down at the box with the same sense of shock.

There before them was a simple black wooden box, no bigger than a jewelry box. Along the sides of it various symbols were carved in the wood, probably prayers or charms to keep the ‘devil’ inside. There was a perfect circle around the box, about a meter in diameter, where there was no ash or any signs of burns. The box was open, and inside there was a pile of ashes, Sherlock quickly decided that it had to be from falling ash when the house collapsed. Why would none fall around the ends of the box though?

The two stared at it for a couple more moments before Sherlock spoke up, “That is… unusual.”


End file.
